And, you know, for doing what makes me happy—getting married in Mexico (the receptions are for family, not for me), moving to Oregon to be with pretty much the only male I’ve ever met who comes even close to meeting my ridiculously high expectations (and Kellen fucking exceeds them), for occasionally having a social life or doing activities like band that make me happy (but unavailable for a couple of hours on Tuesdays), for having to go grocery shopping or cook dinner or do any of the things normal people with normal lives do on a day to day basis in order to stay alive, or for thinking that when I’m doing any of these things, you should have the modicum of patience required to, oh, I don’t know, wait until I’m finished doing them to talk because it is rude to have my cell phone attached to my ear all the fucking time—I should feel HORRIFICALLY GUILTY.